Unknown, Unknowns: Two Steps From Hell
by Seraphims-Mirth
Summary: He swung his gun around but found his wrist captured by steely blood-speckled fingers and painfully pinned behind his back. He felt a weight settle on his shoulder, warm blood dripped down the side of his throat as the figure pressed the mangled side of his face against his own. The voice that whispered to him was distorted, hissed through bullet broken teeth...
1. Chapter 1

As I have mentioned in my profile page I am unhappy with the original of this story. After much thought and consideration I have decided that I am going to entirely re-write it. This is due to many reasons, one of which is that I believe I can make a stronger plot than the one that was presented. I will admit that the story began as nothing more than an excuse for Gin and Ed to have a romp between the sheets. I also knew that if Gin and Ed were presented in an erotic, sexual manner that I would get reviews. This is somewhat of an old fanfiction writing tactic, take a hot couple, write a lemon about them and watch the reviews roll in.

Because I was focusing just on the physical side of their love I feel as though I have sold my audience and myself short. I know that I can craft a wonderful, story for the both of them, one that is deeper than just physical attraction, without having to use cheap tricks such as sex. **This does not mean that I will cut back on the love scenes only that they will be re-written to fit my taste. **Gin and Ed are both very interesting and passionate characters, and I know that I can portray their relationship in an equally passionate way. **This doesn't mean that I am in anyway ungrateful for the reviews that I received or that I think that they were tawdry, to be honest the kind words of those who did enjoy my story is the main reason why I want to do this. I know I can give all of you better work and I think that my audience deserves a story that is a reflection of my true skill. If you are new to this story then I will warn you: **

**_This story is rated M for sexual content between two men, violence, blood, language and gore: please proceed with your own caution. Also, please do not point out to me in a review that this contains gay sexual content, I know, I wrote the story. I also do not claim any ownership of Aaron McGruder's characters, nor any elements that are associated with Hitman, or Assassins Creed. However, there are characters, and places that are my own creation. Please if you would like to use them then ask me. They are copyright to me, via "poor man's" copyright so you are breaking the law if you take them without permission. I also do not bear any ill will toward any religions that are mentioned in this story particularly the Catholic Church or any order associated with the Church. This is written from a purely historical standpoint and based off of true events. _**

That being said, I hope that you enjoy this re-mastered version of Unknown Unknowns.

Keep Reading My Friends and Keep Writing,

Your humble author,

Waltz~

**Update: The first chapter will be posted at the beginning of June. **


	2. Prelude: Nightmares and Dreamscapes

_"__The road to Hell is paved with good intentions,"_

_~Unknown_

_"Perhaps you have seen him in a dream. A figure that you can never quite focus your sight on, an unsettling companion who stays just out of your reach. He is a man that knows everything about you, your noble trials your sinful thoughts, and your most binding vices. Once you have spoken with him, he will never leave you. He is always there lurking in your waking mind and within your dreamscapes." _

_Prelude _

Thunder unfurled its low voice across the storm darkened heavens. Spindles of lightening chased the wind among the clouds, and the air smelled of sweet rain. Ed was here again, standing at the very edge of a grassy escarpment. Huge slabs of granite jutted from the edges, draped in emerald tangles of ivy. Sprawled below him was a city, ancient and glorious the lights from the marble buildings twinkling in the oncoming dusk. Beyond this, snow covered mountains loomed in the distance their peaks piercing the sky like an open maw of a beast.

He knew that this was not Woodcrest, this place wasn't within the same realm as the small town his family owned. He gave a mirthless laugh the sound shattered on the wind as frail as the foolish gangster façade he donned every day. Owned was an understatement, his grandfather _reigned_ over that town, a tyrant attired in an elegant suit who clasped his blood stained hands with others in deals that were more binding than that of the devil, who sat on a throne of corpses. How Ed loathed it, everywhere he went he saw his sire name, so he could never forget where he came from, where his roots were settled, and whose blood ran through his veins. But here there were no embalms etched with his initials, and his name was not embossed on every surface shamelessly proclaiming exactly who owned the very foundations of the city.

No, wherever he was it felt more home to him than the suburban city where he had spent all of his life. So much had been lost to him in Woodcrest. Somewhere between the mortal wound of losing both his parents and his addictions to the finest vices that money could buy he had misplaced himself somewhere. But here some persistent bygone instinct as wise the very Gods told him that this was where his true bloodline had begun, welling up from the soil to sweep across archaic realms that had crafted an Empire that would overtake world covering it in wealth and drowning it with blood. There was solace here, the weight of his life, his sins, of the burdens that he bared shackled to his neck were gone. The constant grief of losing his parents was absent, and the hatred that always lurked in the very core of his soul was now just a lingering presence.

He could see everything with such clarity! The haze of alcohol and drugs no longer obstructed his sight, and he felt as though a part of his soul had awoken from a long slumber and was peeking out from behind his mortal eyes. He could tell by the touch of silk against his skin that he was dressed in a suit, and the weight at his hip told him he had a gun. He absent mindedly curled his fingers around the butt of the 1911 Hardballer*. Suddenly a gust of wind rolled down from the distant mountains causing him to narrow his eyes against its frigid sting.

The icy gale swirled around his body in a cold embrace, whipping though his hair and cloths, it carried the scent of fresh blood and recently broken earth. He felt a sudden presence loom beside him and the entity that had been borne on the arboreal wind found its place beside him. It wasn't threatening nor comforting just nonchalantly aberrant much like his own shadow. But he knew that could change in an instant, the thing was a slavering wolf in sheep's clothing. It had an aura that crept into Ed's senses and conquered all of them without him even realizing it. It had the ability to hook its claws into his brain and shift though his thoughts and memories as though it were looking for some buried relic in a coffer. So he kept himself guarded against any intrusion, slamming the portal shut to his mind with all the precautions of a kingdom locking its gates to invaders. This presence didn't startle him for he had spoken with his visitor on many occasion since he was a child. This however didn't mean he knew who the specter was and was still uncertain as what it represented, he only knew that it was male and what kind of cloths it wore.

He didn't bother addressing the figure beside him, it was pointless. The wraith had the infuriating habit of exchanging words only when it felt like speaking. Even then it never gave a straight forward answer, sometimes it didn't acknowledge that it had been asked a question. It chose to be enigmatic, sometimes even nonsensical, threading words together that would clash with Ed's sanity. He would give Ed an uneasy feeling as though his mind were unraveling and he was trying to stitch his sanity back together with trembling fingers and a dulled needle. So it was best to let it speak with first, rather than take the first step in their verbal duel.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a frightened jibbering little voice hissed that he was in in the presence of the of the Fallen Angel Lucifer. He ignored this idiotic declaration, all the tales he heard of the rebel archangel described him as a creature of hypnotizing allure, and he had never seen this figures face. He had always imagined that Lucifer, the greatest sufferer of vanity, would appear to mortals wearing his finest mask of forged false beauty. That didn't however make this wraith any less unsettling; every time Ed would alter his stance the man beside him would shift so that he lurked on the peripheral of his vision. However, Ed was always able to identify him because he was always attired in the same way. His odd companion dressed in a tailored silk Black Cherry Jacquard vest with brass buttons that lined that the frontal seam; this vestment covered a crisp white shirt complete with a length of black silken ribbon tied just above the elbow and dangled down to his wrist. A velvet Barrington top hat rested at an easy angle on his head over long, curling tresses of hair the color of pyre smoke. Elegant obsidian trousers tapered down to a pair of knee high equestrian boots were belted at a slim waist with a silver buckle.

Tonight he was wearing a charcoal colored Callahan frock coat the very edge halting at the backs of his knees.

Sometimes Ed could glimpse a spark of light that caught the silver finish of a pocket watch that would be clasped in his hand. Other times Ed would be able to see the spine of a worn tome casually grasped at his side the pages marked with a slim finger. One one occasion he had appeared astride a great cinder colored stallion surrounded by a freezing ethereal mist. Tonight however neither words nor time seemed to hold the strangers attention, as mentioned he was alone, and his hands were bare and clad in a pair of gloves.

"I thought I would find you here Faolan*,"

Green eyes shifted to give the elegantly dressed man beside him a cursory glance,

"As I have told you before that is not my name though I can't say I am surprised that you have appeared to rob me of my peace."

A gentle laugh crept to his ears with all the curling laziness of smoke, his old rage cracked a crimson eye, shifted in his belly, growled then settled back down.

"I know you better than you know yourself boy."

Ed made a dismissive sound, a sneer formed on his lips, and returned his attention to the city below him,

"All these times I have spoken to you and you have yet to give me the courtesy of your name,"

The figure replied in the soft threatening tone of sword being drawn from its sheath and said,

"You know me _Edward _just as all men do. I stand beside them throughout the rambling course of their existence and watch all their triumphs and all their sins. And I _always _remember."

Ed tilted his head trying to catch a glimpse of the man beside him but he pulled his old trick and stayed just on the edge of his sight. He growled in annoyance and instead decided to ask him a question.

"Going to repeat my follies to me again?"

He figure shifted and slipped his slender hands in his pockets, a moment or two danced past on tempest heavy wind before he replied.

"You don't believe the words I say to you, what would be the purpose of wasting my breath?"

Ed swallowed back the snort of laughter that threatened to crawl up his throat, he was very sure that this shade didn't waste its time on something as trivial and mortal as breathing.

"Then why are you here?"

The question came out quiet but threatening,

"To talk."

The words sounded as though they had been spoken to Ed as though he were submerged under water. His vision clouded for a moment before fading back to clarity. He knew what had just happened, the thing beside had reached out and was trying to probe his mind with ethereal fingers. Ed shook his head, forcefully shoving the feeling out his consciousness.

"Keep your filthy fucking hands out of my head,"

The man beside him seemed to disregard the statement and instead started to hum a soft tune, its melody striking a chord within Ed's heart that ran through his very soul, he swayed as though drunk as it almost knocked him off balance. This was his punishment for locking him from his thoughts. The first time it has happened the world has dissolved into a realm of suffocating nightmares, that had left him reeling from sleep to vomit all over his lush velvet bedspread. The feeling wasn't so overwhelming now, over the years he had learned to neatly side step the invasion into his thoughts almost as well as his creepy companion avoided being seen.

"Why do you keep appearing to me, how do I know you?"

The man rocked back on his heels and said,

"Isn't this a beautiful spot Edward, your father thought so."

Ed gripped the 1911 harder, his anger twitched in his gut. The wraith was switching tactics now, knowing that if Ed lost his temper his concentration would snap leaving his mind open. Ed drew in a deep breath trying to quell his fury. His companion often made him mad with rage whispering to him things that he didn't want to hear about himself, words that he knew were truth that he didn't want to face. But usually this didn't happen as swiftly as it was now. He would toy with Edward's emotions as a predator would idly play with its prey. After a while he would tire of this and slit Edwards's throat with his keen accusations. Ed's words came out through clenched teeth,

"Tell me your _fucking _name and where you know me from!"

He heard a wistful sigh and could just glimpse the man beside him incline his head back to look at the night sky. He was silent for so long that Ed thought that he wasn't going to answer. He was surprised when he finally replied and it wasn't a nonsensical riddle.

"Well, I know you from Maryland, and I know you from the scorching desert sands of the Middle East, I know your mother, your father…I know you from all over, and I know _you_ all over even better than Gin, I know you soul, your scars, your grief…,"

His old wrath snapped awake at the mention of his lovers name and came snarling to its feet baying for blood. It sprang from its resting place in his bowels, and tore through his veins leaving behind a flare of white hot rage before it settled in his brain glaring out from his eyes. Before Ed was aware of what he was doing his gun was torn free of the leather holster at his side. The steel glimmered in the starlight; cold and promising. He took a swift step backwards and for once seemed to have been more agile than his visitor. He was staring down the sight of the Hardballer, looking at the figures back. The realization that he finally had this wraith fully within his vision was startling, but it didn't tamp down his ferocity.

"If you don't tell me your name I won't be responsible for what happens," he said.

The wraith cackled and touched the brim of his hat in farewell, before he turned away in a flare of gold threaded silk. He began to stroll off into the gloom of the night. His voice was tinged with laughter,

"Oh, but you will. You will be responsible, your father learned that the hard way. Ah, this _is _a perfect spot. See you around Faolan,"

Ed narrowed his eyes and curled his finger tighter around the trigger,

"God, damn you,"

The voice that floated back to him was brimming with barely controlled mirth,

"Yes, many have my young Wuncler many have,"

The muzzle of his gun flared twice its roar almost drowning out the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Both slugs struck the man in the spine, blood spurted against the night, catching the mercury light of the stars but the figure didn't even falter in his steps. Ed growled in frustration and leveled the gun higher right at the base of the retreating man's skull.

"Go back to hell, and leave me alone."

He squeezed the trigger again, and the beast in his head gave a howl of triumph as the bullet tore through the back of the man's skull in a burst of blood, teeth and gore. _Finally. _A sickly smile tainted his face and he gave a mocking laugh.

"Rest well you fu-,"

In time it took for him to blink the body was gone leaving being a smear of crimson on the grass. He heard a rustle of silk behind him mingled with the blood-wet sound of a breath being drawn in. He tried to pivot around his rage melting away to terror as a slim hand as brumal as the touch of Azrael grasped the back of his neck with the force of an iron manacle. He swung his gun around but found his wrist captured by steely blood-speckled fingers and painfully pinned behind his back. He felt a weight settle on his shoulder, warm blood dripped down the side of his throat as the figure pressed the mangled side of his face against his own. The voice that whispered to him was distorted, hissed through bullet broken teeth,

"The Hell I occupy is the one in your head, and I will _never _leave you alone Edward,"

* * *

*Faolan- meaning little wolf

*1911 Hardballer- The Hardballer series of pistols all share a brushed stainless steel finish and a wide target style trigger with adjustable trigger stop. The later Galena-made pistols have an elongated "beavertail" grip safety and a beveled magazine well. So in other words a very powerful and deadly weapon.


	3. Rituals and Reunions Part 1

_"__I feel the rain on me__the whispers on the wind...I only need to think that I'm your kind. __  
__I gotta break the wall,__to reach the skies above,__and fall into your arms to live and die..."_

_Ivan Torrent-Dandelion_

_"__The Gods are rolling their dice, playing games with the lives of men," _

_~Terry Pratchett_

Chapter One: Rituals and Reunions

Ed woke with a gasp arching off the bed as though an electric current were twisting down his spine. His heart felt as though it were trying to tear its self from his chest and beat painfully against his ribs. He tried to draw in a breath to quell its rapid rhythm but the beginnings of panic quickened through his blood digging needle sharp fangs into his lungs that were already strained from smoking to many cigarettes. He slouched forward trembling from a combination or terror fueled adrenaline and rage. He could still feel the press of splintered teeth against his throat and the warm drip of blood sliding down his neck. The smell of the storm and freshly turned soil still lingered in his nose and so did the feeling of a grave cold hand digging into his wrist.

After all the years of having the wraith stand mockingly out of his sight in his dreams this had been the first time that it had actually touched him. He shivered the ghost of the shades breath crawling across his skin with all the maddening lightness of a silken thread of spider web. It made him want to gag. After a few moments he regained some of his breath and took a haphazard glance to the polished marble floor half expecting to see bloody boot prints by his bedside. But of course there was nothing there, only his discarded cloths and empty liquor bottles. He gave a half amused snort of laughter at his own paranoia.

Sweat had made his skin damp causing his silken sheets to cling uncomfortably to his body. He gave an annoyed snarl and tore the suffocating cloth away, flinging it to the floor. Without thinking he reached to the bedside table and fumbled for the etched crystal glass that was rested just on the edge. He knew that there was still was a shot of bourbon at the bottom. He had drifted off to sleep looking at how the amber liquid had distorted the opposite wall with a splash of gold. He brought the drink shakily to his lips hoping that the liquid fire would burn away the last remnants of his nightmare.

He gave a hiss of pain as it slid past his lips causing a flare of pain to spike into his brain. He drew the glass away startled when he saw that it was smudged with scarlet. He gently brought his fingers to his mouth and found that he had bitten though his bottom lip in his sleep and the wound had dribbled crimson down the side of his face and neck.

_"__I know all of you, better than Gin…,"_

The mocking voice tumbled into his thoughts like hot coals, burning his mind. He tightened his grip on the delicate glass until it groaned beneath the pressure of his fingers. In a fit of unleashed rage he hurled the delicate object at the wall taking a small amount of pleasure in how it shattered and rained jagged pieces of crystal onto the floor.

He absentmindedly wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before bracing his hands against the edge of the bed and levered himself up to a standing position. He swayed on his feet the liquor he had nursed all day sweeping across his sense of balance in a nauseating wave. He took a few shaky steps forward the sick feeling sliding from his belly to reside behind his eyes. The welcome coolness of the bathroom beckoned to him and he made his way there.

After a few steps he had to reach out and brace his hand against the side of the massive claw footed chest of draws that loomed beside the entrance to the bathroom. He heard the distant rumble of thunder and cast his gaze to the stately French glass windows that lead to the balcony. The last glimmer of light from the evening sun was just a golden thread spun against the tops of the trees. It was swiftly being swallowed by the swell of the oncoming storm. He watched as the last luminescence faded, swallowed by shadow.

_"__See how easily light falls away before the oncoming darkness," _

The words of his grandfather from years past rose up in his mind, stirred to his consciousness by the last wisps of his nightmare. He shook his head, not wanting to think of his guardian, not wanting to think of anything. Gin was gone, absent from his life for months now, and without the strong comforting presence of the blonde his old depression was slowly lurching back into his mind. It had settled on the fringe of his thoughts, patiently waiting for entrance into its old domicile. It was beginning to pluck with decayed fingers at strings of memory that had remained so clandestine that Ed had forgotten their repulsive resonance. It made his heart ache, and bile burn at the back of his throat. He turned his attentions away from outside, and continued on his path to the bathroom.

A single white light burned through the gloom, a spark of hope. It was the notification signal on his cell phone. The gnarled feeling of sickness loosened its grip on his belly and he quickened his pace almost tripping on the damp towel on the tile floor. He caught himself on the edge of the sink, ignoring the bark of pain that snarled up his leg as his knees banged against the oaken cabinets beneath the counter. He reached for his phone and pressed the power button. The screen lite up and the top bar indicated he had a new text message. His heart hammering in his chest flicked to the screen and saw that the message was from a number that he didn't recognize but the message was held all the familiarity of a lovers embrace.

_I will see you soon Red, I love you and I have missed you. _

Ed found that he was trembling all over again and pressed his forehead against the coolness of the screen. He huffed out a heavy breath that was tinged with a sob.

"That mother fucker,"

The thought was heavy with the pouting anger of a spurned child who had just been denied his favorite toy. But like most childish emotions it was fleeting and left a sense of relief trailing in its wake. The harrowing feelings that had been gnawing at his mind with rat like teeth skittered back to their dark corners and faded. Thunder rumbled again, the fall of the sword of Fate, the laughter of the gods. It's far away voice shook another memory awake in his mind.

_"__Hear that Eddie baby, that's the sound of the Gods rolling their dice, playing games with the lives of men,"_

He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth and the heavy brittle mask of sadness begin to crack and fall away. The blonde was so romantically poetic sometimes that it was striking, alluring in way one finds absolute grace of their lovers every day movements beautiful. He was then struck by how much his missed Gin, summer was waning into autumn and this was the first time he had heard anything from him. Wiping away a stray tear that had trickled down his face, he unplugged his phone and slipped it into his pocket, his heart lighter in his chest.

He turned to leave the bathroom just as lightening flashed and he caught a glimpse of his haggard reflection in the mirror. His jaw tightened and soft cry of horror leaking from between his clenched teeth. The blood drained from his face and his heart plummeted to his knees. His eyes were wide in a terror that nipped at the galloping hooves of madness. Against the vivid pale white of skin of his throat were blood smeared finger prints.

* * *

Edward Senior glanced up when he heard the sound of glass shattering from the room above him. He paused, the envelope he had just received held lightly in his hand, his silver letter opener still poised beneath the wax insignia that sealed the document inside. A sudden flash of lightening spilled into the room filling his steel gray eyes with liquid mercury. He waited assuming that this was just the first note in the symphony of destruction that was about to ensue. His grandson had always been prone to fits of rage, but lately he had been becoming more violent and destructive. Not that the older man gave a fuck. He relished those moments when Edward lost control, it reminded him that no matter how wretched his grandson had become they were still bound by the rage that sang through their blood. His son had lacked that certain trait, his grandsons father had always been soft spoken even when provoked to the very cusp of anger.

That personality trait was something that Wuncler would test often, purposely antagonizing his son straining to get a glimpse of the beast he knew lurked beneath the others calm and collected demeanor. But Wuncler the II always found these trials amusing he would laugh at his father, his frost colored gray eyes taking on the hue of sharpened steel. He would twist his father's words around as gracefully as a fencer turned his opponents sword

That hadn't however meant that his son was weak, he had no preference in weapons, for anything he laid his hands on became in instrument of death. When it came to his contracts he was just as cold and calculating as any assassin. Wuncler often lamented that his son had refused to pursue a military career the older man had no doubt that Edward II would have easily surmounted any obstacle and could have become part of the BUD/S or MARSOC. But death had stolen upon his son when his eyes had been turned to other matters of importance and he had been struck down along with his wife. Leaving Wuncler senior with a young prodigy, one that he had hoped he could sculpt to fill the void that his father had left behind. Wuncler now realized how foolish that endeavor was, the memories of his own son had blinded him to the fact the Edward was nothing like his father. He was stubborn as a Brahman bull, fiercely independent and had a wild streak careened through his blood on mustang swift was these episodes fury gave Wuncler hope that buried beneath the layers of addiction and reckless behavior Edward still held a warriors spirit, one that was capable of destruction and violence.

Somewhere from the darkness Saint-Saens Fourth Piano Concerto drifted though the shadows of the evening, mingling with the music of the storm. It barely masked the sound of silk as the assassin that had been reclining on the couch in front of fire quietly slipped from a few moments Wuncler dismissed the sound, his grandson was either too impaired or too lazy to continue his temper tantrum. It was no secret that Wuncler didn't like his grandson, he loathed his very presence and often went out of his way to inflict him with pain. The thought of his inferior prodigy so upset caused a small amount of smug satisfaction to bloom in his chest. That coupled with the knowledge that he was the cause of grandsons suffering also brought him a sense of malicious joy.

The silence waltzed by on storm heavy feet and after a few more moments he returned his attention to the sealed envelope. He flicked the thin blade across the obsidian wax breaking the engraved image of a falcon tearing the throat from a crane1 in twain. A few photographs tumbled onto his desk he picked them up and idly flipped through them. When he was finished he stacked them neatly on the corner of his desk before he unfolded the heavy hand pressed parchment. He saw that it was a bank statement along with a hand written note informing him that his contract had been completed with no extra expense to the initial fee. A million dollars had been withdrawn from one of his companies accounts an amount that meant as much to him as his grandson. It was only a few coins missing from the dragon's hoard of wealth that he reined over.

It was a paltry price to pay for the reconstruction of his fallen empire. Each stone would be baptized in the blood of his enemies. He would leave a trail of corpses to his throne and no one would dare raise their voice in defiance to him. He glanced up when he heard the door to his office softly open and then close. His gaze followed the assassin until she reclaimed her place on the couch.

"So…?"

He asked, getting up from his desk refolding the piece of parchment he grabbed the photos as he walked to the fire place. The assassin's eyes followed her patriarch as he stood in front of the hearth his figure silhouetted against the fiery hue of the flames. She was silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts, phrasing her words very carefully.

"I am not sure, the doorway to his bedroom was open. He was standing slack jawed in front of the bathroom mirror and he looked like he may have been bleeding."

She paused nervously licking her lower lip before continuing,

"I watched him a few more moments, I thought he was going to pass out but he staggered out onto the balcony. I left him standing in the rain. "

Wuncler remained silent staring into the fire. Thunder gave a faraway chuckle before rolling to a crescendoed a roar. He sighed than glanced at the paper one last time before casting it into the fire.

"Do you know what was on that parchment Priest?"

She stayed quiet knowing that he wasn't expecting an answer. He turned and almost carelessly tossed the photos in her direction.

"Another one of our complications has been eliminated, and as you can see he has met his end quite gruesomely."

* * *

1\. The falcon killing the crane in the family insignia of the Graham clan in Scotland, this is the clan that my family hails from and according to history the Graham were assassins/mercenaries who, on a plea from King George sailed to the United States of kill the founding father. They however turned on their English and offered their services to the United States during the war. This is the only clan that I am aware of who openly advertised that they were blades for hire.


End file.
